A Season of Seduction by Jennifer Haymore Page B

six years old, Jack had been blamed for the crops at Hambly rotting due to too much rain. When he was eight, he’d been accused of swaying a particularly important decision in Parliament. When he was twelve, he was solely responsible for the failure of an investment his father had made in a canal.
Between the ages of twelve and eighteen, Jack had gone away to school and had managed to avoid his father for the most part. But when he was eighteen, the murder of the Marquis of Haredowne had coincided with the failure of Jack’s middle brother, Edward, to win a promotion to the rank of post captain in His Majesty’s Navy. Of course, that was Jack’s fault, too.
After the charges against him were dismissed, Jack was sent away forthwith, and weeks after he’d left England, his mother had died suddenly. Jack hadn’t heard of her passing until months later. They’d been anchored in Sydney, and in the midst of his anguish and grief over his mother’s death, Jack had received a letter from his father.
She’d died because of him, his father said. Because she was brokenhearted about the embarrassment Jack had caused to their family.
Jack knew it was nonsense. His mother had remained his most steadfast, staunchest supporter through every second of the ordeal. Yet a part of him had shriveled and died at those words, and he’d crumpled that letter, held a candle to it, and watched it burn, promising himself that he’d never again listen to a word his father said.
Becky’s lips thinned further as Jack’s father chuckled. “To be sure, sir, I never imagined my son settling down and marrying, especially into a family as fine as yours. He’s a scoundrel of the first order, does naught but toss away his allowance on hells and women.”
Jack ground his teeth. Not only were those words inaccurate—the man had interacted very little with Jack for the past twelve years—but they would do nothing to ingratiate Jack to the duke.
Jack had never understood his father. He never would. He could only count the hours until this night was over. He’d have to interact with his father and his brother—fortunately his middle brother had finally been promoted to the rank of post captain and was currently at sea—only at his forthcoming nuptials, and then he’d be free of them until the next family obligation arose, which Jack prayed wouldn’t be anytime soon.
The duke shrugged. “You may trust I have looked into his affairs. I found nothing out of the ordinary.”
Jack’s father continued blithely. “Indeed, I never thought he’d be tamed. Fidelity is not a strong suit in our family, is that not so, Bert?”
Bertrand, who often left his wife in the country only to be seen at various events in London with his mistress on his arm, choked down the wine he’d been holding to his mouth and swallowed, patting his napkin on his lips. Jack felt little fraternal affection for his oldest brother, who’d spent the better part of their childhoods reminding Jack and Edward of his superiority as the eldest son and heir.
The Duke of Calton’s blue eyes narrowed into slits, and Lord Westcliff cut in, bringing his champagne glass to his lips. “We are certainly ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? They are yet to agree on forging a permanent connection.”
“Surely marriage is the best solution. Indeed, the only solution,” Jack’s father said.
Bertrand chose this moment to open his fool mouth. “What my father says is absolutely true. Ever since their—ah— discovery , my brother and the lady have been made fools of up and down the streets of London. I have heard that a playwright is fashioning the story of their discovery into a farce about the morality of the upper orders.”
Jack thought that playwright would do better to base his work on his brother’s life rather than his own, but he felt no impulse to respond. He couldn’t open his mouth without showing his disgust for his father and brother’s behavior, and he wouldn’t show his